


Pandora's Last Dance

by AnnieVH



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Belle/Rumplestiltskin | Mr. Gold in the Dark Castle, Dancing, Dark Castle, F/M, Fights, Fluf, Magic, Rumbelle Christmas in July, Rumbelle Christmas in July 2016
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-23
Updated: 2016-07-23
Packaged: 2018-07-26 07:15:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,890
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7565074
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnnieVH/pseuds/AnnieVH
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rumpelstiltskin brings something mysterious to the Dark Castle. Belle is not supposed to open it. It goes as well as one might expect.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pandora's Last Dance

**Author's Note:**

> Giftee: rufeepeach
> 
> Santa: LadyBookwormWithTeeth (posted as AnnieVH)
> 
> Prompt: Sing me a love song
> 
> Beta: kacymyth, who volunteer at the last minute to cover for Maddie.
> 
> A big thank you to: First, MaddieBonanaFana, who's been brainstorming with me since the beginning and heard me whining for weeks about how my characters didn't want to do what I was telling them to. Feel better, darling! Second, starkid-4-life, who suggested a prank from Regina, instead of my over complicated ideas, and saved me from having to forfeit this exchange after writing 6K words! And last, but not least, kacymyth, who provided an emergency beta in record time. You saved this from fic being an embarrassment, honey.

As soon as she heard the door knob turning, Belle jumped off the divan and picked up the duster from the floor. With any luck, Rumpelstiltskin wouldn't notice that the cleaning hadn't progressed much since he'd left that morning. She'd planned to take a short ten-minute break for lunch and a little reading, nothing more. But then the plot got interesting. Now, the sun was setting and her chores had been neglected all afternoon.

“You're back!” she said, a little too happily in her haste to sound casual and innocent. The feather duster found a random target on the shelf as she waved it blindly. “Did you have a good trip?”

“Oh, yes!” he replied, and his voice did sound quite satisfied as he walked into the room. “It was a very productive day. Which is more than I can say for your cleaning.”

Belle smiled nervously and looked over her shoulder, “Oh, you know, it's a large castle. It's difficult to get to every nook and-”

What she saw made her stop waving the duster around (rather inefficiently, one might add) and her face turned into a curious frown.

As usual, Rumpelstiltskin responded to her confusion by raising his eyebrows ever so slightly, as if there was absolutely nothing out of the ordinary or magic happening in the room.

“You were saying?” he asked, but he knew she wasn't paying attention anymore. Her eyes were focused on what had floated into the room right behind him.

Finally, he looked over his own shoulder, then back at her. Judging by the expression on his face, one might have thought he'd just realized something had followed him up the stairs and into his treasure room.

“I see you've noticed I've brought some luggage with me tonight,” he said.

“It's difficult not to notice a leather trunk floating five feet above the ground,” Belle said, dropping the duster on the nearest surface and coming closer.

“It's light enough for you to push into the ballroom, dearie, so there's no excuse for laziness.”

Belle didn't stop circling the trunk with eyes full of wonder, but glanced in his direction to ask, “We have a ballroom?”

“ _I_ have a ballroom,” he corrected. “It came with the castle. Just take the north corridor, go downstairs, and walk until you find the double doors. They're made of gold, so you won't have trouble spotting them. It's somewhere between the winter garden and the bigger kitchen.”

Belle felt her chin go slack, as her eyes traveled from the floating trunk to her master, unsure of which was the most fascinating thing in the room at the moment.

“Just how big is your castle?” she asked. “I've been cleaning it for four months and I'm not even half-way through.”

“Perhaps my castle is not big. You're just not that good at cleaning it,” he said, in that half-threatening tone he'd use with her when he wanted to be taken seriously.

“Then perhaps you should send me back and find a better maid,” she replied, in that cheeky way that always seemed to catch him off guard. But her heart wasn't into it today. She was far more interested in examining the carvings on the floating trunk. If she noticed her master take a moment too long to reply, as indifferent as he could sound, “...But then who's going to do the heavy lifting?” she did not let it show.

The hinges were rusty and the leather looked old, but well taken care of. Beneath the tip of her fingers, it felt like the cover of a well-read book. However, there were very small carvings on its surface. Beautiful women in ballgowns half-way through a pirouette, dancing with well-dressed men. Several violins and other string instruments were scattered between them. A long string of musical notes filled the empty spaces left by the figurines. All had been worked into the leather in one continuous line that Belle couldn't see the end nor the beginning of. A heavy padlock hung at the front, the key right next to it, attached to a chain. Belle flexed her fingers, fighting the urge to open it right then and there.

“What is it?” she asked.

“A trunk.”

Belle snapped her tongue, half frustrated, half amused. “I mean what's inside.”

Though there was a smile fighting its way to his face, his eyes turned into slits, as he evaluated the situation. He started making his way around the opposite side of the trunk, saying, “Something so mystical and magical that it cannot be exposed to the human eye. You must never open it.”

“Why?” she insisted, her voice filled with suspicion. She peeked over the trunk to take a good look at his face. “What's inside? What is it?”

Her curiosity seemed to delight him, so much so that he allowed himself an extra second to elaborate on his answer. He settled for, “This is the legendary box of Pandora.”

Her jaw dropped, “ _No!_ ”

“Oh, yes.” He placed one hand on the side of the trunk and watched a little glimpse of hesitation run through her face, as if she expected that soft touch to make the whole thing explode. His free hand made a flourish into the air. “That is why it's so big and heavy. It holds all the evils of the world. If you open this trunk, my dear, you will be solely responsible for bringing all that is rotten and harmful into the world. You, by your own hand and with the help of no one else, might bring destruction upon our land.”

Belle's mouth rounded in a perfect O for a moment, as she analyzed the trunk again. But then she saw the little smirk on the corner of his lips and she concluded, “No, it's not.”

He blinked. “I beg you pardon?”

“That's just an ordinary box. And I bet it's empty.”

Belle placed her own hand on the box to show that she was not afraid. When he stared back at her without saying a word, she turned around as if she'd lost all interest in his silly box and was ready to retrieve her duster.

“Is it now? I guess you'll never know,” he teased, but she didn't seem to care anymore. She wasn't even looking at him. He tried, “Why would you think it's empty?”

She laughed. “Because you always do this. You vanish for a couple of days, then you walk in with something flashy, showing off with all these big stories, but never really letting me see what it does.”

“When do I _ever_ do that?”

Belle turned around to stare at him. When he didn't budge, she looked at the closest pedestal, where a golden clock was sitting. “How about we start with this? The clock that can, supposedly, freeze you in time?”

His chin fell to the floor. It was a satisfying sight.

“Supposedly?” he replied, baffled by her insolence. “You lost two entire days the last time you touched it!”

“Yes, so you say. I have no memories of that.”

“ _Because you were frozen in time_!”

“And how about-” she crossed the room to another pedestal, where a frumpy blue hat was waiting, pale in comparison to the other treasures. “This. What is this again?”

“It is reputed to be the closest replica ever made of a very powerful hat.”

“Yes, rather impressive _replica_ of a _hat._ ”

“Wha- I'll have you know-!”

“And of course,” Belle continued, before he even had the chance, “everybody's favorite.”

“Don't start...” he shook his head as she came closer to the pedestal that hosted a golden chalice.

“The Holy Grail.”

“ _Un_ holy Grail. For the last time, it's the _Un_ holy Grail.”

“Right. The cup that kills you.”

“Erases you from existence, is what it does. Why do you _beg me_ to tell you these things if you're not even paying attention?”

“You might want to get better things to show off.”

Rumpelstiltskin rolled his eyes and gave the trunk a push himself, making it float all the way across the room. She turned in time to intercept it with her own hands. Nothing made a sound, but she could tell there was definitely something inside.

He said, “Shocking as it may sound to you, dearie, I have no reason to show off to the _help_.”

“Is this why you went through the effort of floating it into the room?”

“It's heavy,” he said, defensive.

“Couldn't have poofed it into your vault?”

“I didn't want to damage it.”

“Hmmm...” she pretended to consider it, but made sure to sound very skeptical. “I don't know, you're going to great lengths to prove to me whatever is inside of this trunk is pretty amazing. Maybe it will just be disappointing.”

“And I assume the only way to prove you wrong would be to open it up and show you what's inside?”

“Well... I wouldn't say that.”

“You're going to great lengths to imply it.”

She smiled, as innocent as ever. And then pushed the trunk back towards him.

Rumpelstiltskin caught it and – her heart started pounding – took the key from its chain.

Then, his eyes sparkled with mischief in her direction.

“I don't think it's worth the risk, dearie,” he told her. “I mean, I _could_ be telling you the truth, and then we'd be in trouble.”

Belle's excitement deflated. She tried to insist, “Yes, but... we both know you're lying-”

“Actually, _one_ of us knows that. The other one will just have to deal with her own curiosity.”

He pocketed the key.

“Now, how about you do your job and push it to the ballroom?”

When he turned to leave, she tried, “I guess we'll never know if you're telling the truth.”

He giggled as if that amused him. It probably did. “I guess we'll both have to live with that.”

When the doors closed behind him, Belle dropped her duster and huffed. She'd gotten so close.

 

 

Sometimes, Belle felt like the Dark Castle was in constant expansion. For four months she'd been wandering its halls, either cleaning or just snooping around, and yet she couldn't remember ever entering the same room twice. Given his formidable powers, it wouldn't surprise her to find out that he sometimes added an extra bedroom, or a new broom closet to it, though why he'd do something like that was beyond her. There were only two people currently living in his castle, and Rumpelstiltskin himself didn't seem to use much more than the treasure room and his study.

It was possible that he kept building on his estate to torment her, since she was always opening doors she was not supposed to, or quite the opposite. After all, he'd given her a library (he insisted it had always been there, but Belle could tell it was a lie) and later, her own bedroom (so exquisitely decorated she didn't believe for a second it had spent centuries like that, just waiting for a new occupant while the rest of the castle was left to the cobwebs and the mice).

In a way, the Dark Castle wasn't so different from its master. An abandoned, old thing made of stone and dark corners, seemingly repelled by light. And, if she pried long enough and acted a little stubbornly, sometimes she found something surprising and beautiful.

However, the winter garden was most definitely not one of these things. The moment she laid eyes on it, she was very disappointed. In the past, it might have been magnificent, but now it was all but completely dead. Not that this was at all surprising. Nothing seemed to bloom inside the Dark Castle. Just outside its limits, she could spot flowers opening up as soon as Spring arrived, but within, the snow melted away and left nothing but dead grass and dirt in its place. In the winter garden, she could see a lonely bench that might have been pleasant to sit on, were it not by the dead trees, dried bushes, and growing vines. The door had been padlocked, just like the trunk she had pushed down the stairs, though Belle couldn't begin to figure out why. Was he afraid of dead trees?

Belle continued her task, pushing the trunk towards the double doors that lay just ahead. Rumpelstiltskin was right. They were quite unmistakable. But despite the golden gates, she was not ready for what awaited her once she stepped into the ballroom. It was probably one of the most beautiful things Belle had ever seen in her life, but also the saddest.

The doors were already open, welcoming her into an ostentatious ballroom that could easily fit hundreds of guests. Whoever he'd acquired that castle from, they probably threw a lot of large parties. Despite the dust that covered every surface, she could see that what lied underneath was undeniably golden, from the floor to the highest chandelier. For the first time since she moved into his property, Belle actually felt the urge to clean up a room just to see it shine.

The farthest end was domed by a high ceiling and surrounded by tall windows that stretched from the floor up. If she was not mistaken, the ballroom should be at the highest side of the mountain and, despite the walls that surrounded the castle, that meant they should get a fantastic view of the forest during the day, and of the stars during the night. Though right now the windows were so filthy the light could barely get through.

Belle paced the room, the trunk momentarily forgotten in lieu of something so beautiful, yet so broken. Tables and chairs had been covered by sheets that had turned yellow with time. Leafs and dirt had been blown into the room and, as she walked, her shoes made a cracking noise on the floor. There was a grand piano in the corner, lying so silently it was painful to watch. This was not how ballrooms were supposed to look like; ballrooms were supposed to be full of life and color and people.

It came with the castle, that was what Rumpelstiltskin had said. And she believed him. This room had been seriously neglected for decades, maybe centuries. Not that Belle ever believed Rumpelstiltskin would waste his time and magic throwing glamorous balls, such as the ones she used to attend before the war. She couldn't even begin to imagine what he'd look like trying to dance. He was probably adverse to music just as much as he was to sunlight, flowers, and smiling.

A sudden thud right behind her made her turn. Just as he'd said, the trunk found its way to the floor and was now laying just as quiet as the piano.

Belle shook her head. Right, that thing. The only thing that ever seemed to make Rumpelstiltskin slightly gleeful were his possessions. Not that Belle could really blame him. She teased him mercilessly for it, and it felt good to catch him off guard sometimes by acting indifferent to them, but actually his collection was fascinating to her, just as much as the castle, and almost as much as the Dark One himself. She'd never had the chance to see the world beyond a carriage ride from one kingdom to another, and it seemed that she would never have the chance now. His treasures were, in a way, her window to a whole world she could never be a part of now, and to adventures she'd never get to live herself.

Which was why this trunk was so infuriating. She could tell it wasn't empty. It couldn't be. Unless the trunk itself was somehow special. She often read about unassuming objects holding unexpected powers. This could very well be a portal to another world. Or maybe the moment the lid was opened, teeth would come out and the trunk would swallow her whole.

No, that made no sense. If the trunk was so dangerous, then he'd have taken it somewhere safer, preferably far away from her. That was what he usually did. He'd gone through all the trouble to remove all poisonous items from her reach, so he did care about her safety, even if just a bit. As soon as she began working for him, he'd traded that gauntlet for her life. Not a month ago, he'd saved her from her own clumsiness and caught her when she fell down the ladder and right into his arms.

The funny thing was that, since then, Rumpelstiltskin had been treating her as if _she_ was the most dangerous item in his castle and staying too close to Belle could somehow destroy him.

This trunk, though, he seemed indifferent to. All that mattered was that it was safe and sound. Nothing could get out of it. Or maybe he was testing her. Maybe he wanted her to find a way to open it – and the moment she did, he'd jump out of it, scare the hell out of her, and give her a lecture for being disobedient.

“No, it's empty,” Belle told herself, out loud this time to make sure the idea stuck. “It's empty and the only thing he brought with him was an old trunk to drive you crazy.”

Yes, that was probably be true.

And the worst part was that it was working like a charm.

 

 

Father had warned her more than once that her stubbornness and obsession would get her into trouble one of these days, but Belle couldn't help it. She'd never liked unfinished stories and untold secrets. That was why she got through even the dullest books. It was also why she'd risked her life on a trip to Arendelle to try to find out what had happened to her mother – a trip that proved itself to be pointless in the end.

Right now, obsession and stubbornness was the reason why, nearly two weeks later, she was still thinking about that bloody trunk and the wonders if might possess. And thinking was all she would do, because Rumpelstiltskin was still acting like torturing her mind with curiosity was the best fun he'd had in centuries.

For two weeks, she'd tried to pry the answer out of him gently, but he'd dodged all of her questions with an annoying smirk on his lips.

“Dearie, dearie, you sure are a curious girl,” he said that morning, as she poured the tea and asked if she should retrieve the trunk from the ballroom. In an effort to be nice, she'd even remember to bring him the teacakes he liked so much.

“I was just wondering if I'd have to do any more heavy lifting,” she said, placing the chipped cup in front of him. He insisted on drinking from that one, which Belle thought was an endearing gesture. Though lately all thoughts regarding Rumpelstiltskin had shifted from endearing to frustrated.

He snickered in that way of his, that was mostly joyless. Was the joke not at her expense, she'd have laughed along.

“And anyway, why is it important that you keep it in the ballroom?” she said. “Don't you have a treasure room, a laboratory, a study, _and_ a vault with no doors?”

“I also happen to have a ballroom.”

“Yes.”

Belle hopped on the table. It had become a habit of hers to sit there, watching him have tea. By now, he'd learned that arguing against it would only waste both of their times since the only way to get rid of her once she started one of her rants was to magic her away, so he hid his distress behind a long sip of tea.

“That room is so beautiful,” she sighed.

“It's tacky,” he replied, frowning his nose as if the thought of it truly disgusted him. “Golden doors, golden chandeliers. Whoever built that room should learn to edit themselves a little.”

“Do you know who built it?”

“I do not.”

“Have you ever had a ball?”

“I have not.”

“Why not?”

“You have a castle to clean,” he said, getting ready to snap his fingers and send her away.

Belle stopped him by announcing, “I just thought that's why you asked me to take the trunk there. After all, it is for festivities, isn't it?”

Rumpelstiltskin stopped with his fingers ready to snap, but didn't.

It was Belle's turn to smirk.

“Why would you say that?” he asked, trying to keep his voice as neutral as possible.

“I'm getting warmer, aren't I?”

He sipped his tea again.

Belle giggled. “I knew it.”

“You're as cold as ever, dearie,” he insisted. “I might have chosen that specific location for hundreds of reasons, least of all functionality. Truth is, that room just happened to be empty.”

“Then it has nothing to do with balls or music?”

He snickered again. “Such a curious girl. Don't your books have the answer?”

Belle frowned at that remark as if he'd offended her deeply. She'd been searching for answers in all books she could get her hands on, but her library was too vast and she had no idea what she was looking for. Magical boxes and magical trunks comprised a surprisingly large volume of books. Besides, it wouldn't surprise her to find out he'd taken the book with the information she needed away.

“That's what I thought,” he said, looking so smug that Belle felt the urge to salt his tea, just to wipe that smirk off his face. He put down the cup. “Might I suggest you read faster, dearie?”

With that final remark, he pushed his chair back and left the room, listening to the sound of Belle huffing with frustration at another failed attempt to appease her curiosity.

 

 

Sometimes, Regina liked to be annoying for the sake of watching him growl at her. Not that Rumpelstiltskin didn't do the same at every opportunity he got. It was a little game they played, a battle of wits just as much as patience. Outsmarting each other in the smallest things might not make either of them more powerful at the end of the day, but it was _so_ satisfying.

However, other times Regina was annoying because she was fishing for information, and right now Rumpelstiltskin wasn't sure with which he was dealing with. Regina knew about Belle, Rumpelstiltskin was well aware of that. The word was bound to get around that Lady Belle of Avonlea was now him housekeeper. And Regina was always snooping around, no matter how many protection spells he cast on the Dark Castle. And there was that one time when he'd allowed his anger to get the best of him and revealed too much inadvertently. Regina had jumped to conclusions immediately.

“You _like_ this girl!” she had said, with girlish delight.

He'd denied it, of course, but once the Evil Queen realized just how much that particular misconception annoyed him, she held on to it. Nowadays, he couldn't make a visit without hearing some sort of comment about his maid. Usually something seemingly innocent, such as, “How's the daughter of Sir Maurice? Are you treating her well?” Which turned into something vicious as soon as she had the chance, “I'd ask you to lend her to me, this castle could use a good sweep. But according to what the Sheriff of Nottingham is saying, the Dark One doesn't like to share his little maid.”

Rumpelstiltskin tried to keep his temper under control, but he couldn't help but get defensive. Regina had found the perfect tool with which to get under his skin. It wouldn't surprise him one bit if he found out that she was getting all her information from Maleficent and the other Queens of Darkness.

The Evil Queen could have taken a lesson on subtlety though, because the trunk was a bit too much. She threw it in with a deal, almost as an afterthought, and Rumpelstiltskin had taken it before realizing what it truly was. He should have thrown a fireball at her perfectly styled hair right then and there.

However, on his way home, an idea started forming inside his head, and suddenly the gift seemed more like an opportunity than a tease. After all, he could count on Belle to be all over the trunk the moment she laid eyes on it, especially if he made it float into the treasure room while he pretended to have no interest in it whatsoever. She'd have a million questions on the tip of her tongue. And Rumpelstiltskin wouldn't answer any of them.

It wasn't that he found the girl to be... unpleasant. If he were to be completely honest with himself (though he avoided doing that as much as possible), he was learning to enjoy her company and her inquisitive nature. It was an interesting change of pace. But Belle was getting too close for his taste. She spoke too freely in front of him, sat down for tea to “keep him company” every other day, and interfered with his business more often than not.

And then there were the curtains. That had been a fiasco. The moment she ripped them off their rack, he should've allowed her to drop on the ground and demand she put them back up.

Instead, he'd said, rather timidly, “I'll get used to it.”

The girl always seemed to catch him off guard. By the time he was thinking clearly again – and not on the weight of her body on his arms, and how her eyes looked so blue and unafraid when she stared into his, and how come that girl was so very brave when she had no reason to be? - the damage had already been done. She no longer resembled a servant. Their relationship had somehow shifted, gotten more personal. More _friendly_.

“This ought to keep her in her place,” he told himself that evening, as he spun his gold and looked into the wheel as if it could take away all those dangerous thoughts, leaving nothing but darkness in its place. Somewhere in the Dark Castle – the winter garden, she was watching the winter garden, he could feel it – Belle was being consumed by frustration and curiosity. He had to admit, it was rather amusing to see her probing for answers as if she could outsmart him. The girl was clever. Not as clever as him, but she was. She knew how to ask the right questions just as he knew how to deflect them.

He'd tell her nothing. At least until he figured out how to reach into that trunk and change its content to something a little more suitable. Belle was not his friend, or companion. He owned her, and she should know her place.

Which actually sounded like a good plan, until the moment Rumpelstiltskin heard the sound of music coming through the door of his study.

For the fraction of a second, he allowed himself to think that it was coming from _anywhere_ except his ballroom. Maybe Belle found a music box, a rather loud one. Perhaps she was singing. Or it was only the sound of the wheel, creaking as always. Or there was just a violinist downstairs, ready to make a deal.

Reality didn't take long to hit him, though.

“No,” he said, patting down his many pockets, looking for the key. “No, no, no, no, no- she wouldn't _dare_!”

But as he said it, he knew that Belle, in all of her obstinance and cheek, wouldn't hesitate to disobey him if given the chance. In fact, obedience had never been a priority for her.

In the wave of a hand, he transported himself to the ballroom, landing next to Belle in a cloud of purple smoke. She jumped back and her face went pale, as she tried to conceal the key in the folds of her dress. In the corner, the trunk lied wide open, the padlock on the ground.

Right in front of them, a string quartet had materialized, floating in the air and playing madly, even though no musicians could be seen. There were two violins dictating the maddening rhythm of what seemed to be a folksong. A viola followed suit, it's bow sliding over the strings softly, held by an imaginary hand. And a cello, so tall and imposing that it would never have fitted into the trunk without a little help from magic, emitted a long, somber note when he arrived.

Rumpelstiltskin stared at the instruments, his head already starting to hurt from all the noise. Then, he turned a piercing glare at Belle.

Belle recoiled, the key still in her hand, and stammered, “I... I...”

Over the music, he all but shouted, “ _What the hell did you do_?”

 

 

If you thought about it, it was really Rumpelstiltskin's fault, at least that's how she'd justified the betrayal to herself. After all, he'd been the one to drop the key. She'd been very obedient up until that moment. Belle was determined to beat him on his own game, and find out the contents of that trunk by using her researching skills and by outsmarting him with her clever questioning. Even if it took her weeks or months, she was not going to let the subject be dropped. After all, he always seemed to respect her a little more when she beat him at his own game.

But then opportunity presented itself when she found the key in the pocket of his trousers as she did the laundry and all of her careful planning and caution were replaced by the urgent need to just know what Rumpelstiltskin was being so secretive about.

Belle had doubts all the way to the ballroom, a voice in her head urging her to turn around. There was no way Rumpelstiltskin wouldn't learn about this, and when he did, he'd be furious. Worse! He'd know she could not be trusted, and she'd tried so hard to prove just the opposite. But curiosity spoke louder. And besides, she was tired of his taunting. Disappointing a man who delighted in driving her mad didn't seem like such a bad price to pay.

Belle still hesitated one last time in front of the trunk. What if it truly was something horrible? What if it was something _dangerous_? What if it was just empty and the whole thing had been a joke? Or a test?

She inserted the key before any more questions came to mind.

The fact that a magical string quartet floated softly out of it, playing a slow song that picked up some speed within minutes, just surpassed all of her expectations. Yes, it was a simple secret, but it somehow made Rumpelstiltskin even more fascinating to know that he'd purchased magical instruments for himself. Somehow, music and the Dark One didn't seem to fit together.

Especially in moments like this, when he looked absolutely furious.

“I...” she continued, trying to find an excuse, but coming up with nothing.

“You took them out of the trunk!” he yelled, as the string quartet continued to play on. Belle didn't know the name of the song, but it felt vaguely familiar.

“I... more or less.”

He gaped at her. Then looked at the instruments. Then back at her.

“I'd say the scale is tilting slightly towards _more_ than _less_ ,” he said.

“I... yes... uhn... your key.”

She took a step closer to offer the key back. He took a step back as if her proximity repelled him, but snatched it out of her hand anyway.

“I'm sorry-”

“For stealing my key?”

“I didn't steal your key!” she argued, daring to sound offended at the accusation. “I found it in your pocket.”

“And then you stole my key.”

“I... didn't return it.”

“You _stole_ my key- _will you shut it!_ ”

Belle took a step back, and even the instruments seemed to recoil at his shouting. But after a second, the violins started playing again, this time something softer, seemingly realizing that the folk song was not pleasing their master.

Rumpelstiltskin stared at the quartet with angry eyes, but then looked back at her and asked, “ _Why_? _Why_ did you open it when I specifically told you not to?”

“I just...” Belle started, not really knowing how to continue. How do you say “I have absolutely no impulse control whatsoever” and make it sound like a good quality? “I didn't think there would be any harm. And-and look! It's just a lovely string quartet. I don't think they're so bad.”

When he didn't agree with her though, she started to worry.

“Oh, no, don't tell me the music is poisonous of something.”

“It's not,” he admitted, though that fact didn't seem to make him any happier.

“Then... good. It's just a... magical string quartet.”

“It's not about what's inside! It's about the principle!”

“Yes, but... still... no harm done.”

Rumpelstiltskin huffed and seemed ready to set the entire ballroom on fire, but instead he walked to the string quartet, mumbling loudly over his breath, “I cannot believe she opened it, why can't she ever to what I tell her to?”

“I can hear you.”

“ _I'm not whispering_!”

Turning his back on her, Rumpelstiltskin made a flourish with his hand;

Belle waited. Nothing happened.

She couldn't see his face, but she knew he'd be frowning in confusion now.

He tried again, this time raising both of his hands.

Nothing.

“Oh no,” he said. “That... that evil, poisonous-”

“Excuse me!” Belle cut in. “There's no need to call me names.”

“Do you see what you've done?” he demanded, turning around to face her. “I can't undo this!”

“What?”

“I can't – put them – back – in the trunk!” he said, slowly, to make sure she understood.

“I thought you were the most powerful sorcerer in all the realms,” she said, truly confused.

He seemed to take offense at that, because he said, “And I thought you were my maid, but apparently you're just the girl who goes from room to room, ruining everything.”

Belle stared at him, her mouth emitting a little gasp.

Rumpelstiltskin realized he'd hurt her, but didn't take it back.

“You know what?” she said, taking a step towards him, confrontational. “If you really didn't want me to open it, you'd have told me what was inside, instead of teasing me for two weeks. Why didn't you just say, 'Don't open the magic box, dearie, there is a string quartet in it that will play forever if it gets out'!”

Belle finished the sentence with an exaggerated flourish.

He shouted, “ _I thought it was implied!_ ”

“ _Well it was not!_ ”

“ _So you think I just say these things on a whim? These aren't toys, girl! I collect deeply powerful obj-_ where are you going?”

Belle turned on her heels to look at him. “I'm going to the library. One of us has to find a way to shove them back in the trunk, and we won't solve this problem by screaming at each other.”

“Well, you better find a solution, because _this is your fault_!”

Belle walked out of the ballroom, daring to pull at the knob on one of the golden doors, trying to slam it behind her, but soon finding out it was too heavy and wouldn't budge.

Rumpelstiltskin rolled his eyes and walked after her. Much to his chagrin, the instruments followed him out, playing happily. When he glared at them, the viola seemed to tremble and the cello slowed down, ruining what would have been a perfectly played rendition of _I've Got No Strings_. But when Rumpelstiltskin turned around and tried to walk away again, they floated out of the ballroom after him.

“Oh...” he growled. “I am going to _murder_ Regina.”

 

 

There was music in the air in the Dark Castle, bringing life into what used to be dead-silent halls of cold stone. God, how Rumpelstiltskin detested it! Day after day, and night after night, the damned string quartet played on, following Rumpelstiltskin up and down, no matter where he went. The song it played seemed to vary depending on the sorcerer's mood, though he hated them all and the instruments were still to find something that pleased his ear. If he was angry, and that was his most common mood these days, they mistook his huffing and growling for excitement and tried to match it with exciting songs, full of joy. If he went quiet, then they'd play something sweet and mild that resembled a love song. And if he tried to get a moment of peace at the wheel, then the violins tried to match their notes to the creaking of the wheel, something that the viola and the cello didn't seem to appreciate, and the result was a mess.

After an entire day of trying to destroy the string quartet (which was not achieved), then another day trying to lock it away (they always followed him out of the room, though, no matter what spell he used), and finally a third day trying to just _handle_ them, Rumpelstiltskin marched up to Belle's library with the instruments on his ankles.

Belle, who had been out of his way for three days, looked up from her book, but didn't say a word. Apparently, he had crossed a line by claiming she ruined everything, but at the moment, he didn't care.

“There,” Rumpelstiltskin announced, both to Belle and to the instruments. “They're yours now.”

She raised an eyebrow at him. Even the cello emitted a confused note, as if it didn't really understood the concept of ownership. It probably didn't. “Follow _her_ around, you useless pieces of wood.”

He turned to leave. The instruments swayed his way, ready to follow, but he raised his hands.

“No! _Hers!_ Shoo!” and left slamming the door.

From inside the library, he heard Belle address them in her usual sweet voice, “Do you know _The Legend of the Sword_?” And, after exchanging some hesitant notes with each other, the instruments began playing Camelot's most traditional song.

However, if Rumpelstiltskin thought he'd finally get some peace and quiet, he was wrong, because it didn't matter where he stood in his own castle, that bloody music always seemed to reach his ears. In fact, the further away he was, the louder they seemed to play, as if afraid that their owner would be disappointed to miss a single note.

To make matters worse, Regina sent one of her crows with a message, inquiring if him and Belle were enjoying her gift.

Rumpelstiltskin set the crow on fire and returned it to her as a pile of ashes in a box.

Killing Regina would solve nothing. It would make him feel better, but it wouldn't undo her magic, and it would only set his plan back decades. Destroying the instruments was proving to be more difficult than he first anticipated, which meant they were reinforced not only by Regina's magic, or else he'd have gotten a hold of it by now. After all, it was a simple spell, used for centuries to help reluctant monarchs find a suitable match, and while it could have annoying results, he never heard of one that played on forever. His best guest was that Maleficent had helped her, maybe the Sea Witch as well.

There was an alternative, of course. He could put an end to this entire thing if he just agreed to be flexible. Overall, that was not a difficult spell to break, if you were willing to make the right sacrifice, but Rumpelstiltskin was not.

He'd ask Belle if she'd found any relevant information, but that meant he'd have to be the first to speak, and be _nice_ about it too. That was not about to happen any time soon. Furthermore, he wasn't so sure Belle wanted to fix his problem anymore. Every since he handed the instruments over to her, she'd been mostly out of his sight, but sometimes he caught a glimpse of her, practically skipping down the halls, or request a specific song. Once, he swore he caught the end of a pirouette as he walked into the kitchen to ask why dinner was taking so long.

“Ugh!” he said, frowning his nose at her. “Are you a ballerina or a maid?”

Belle, caught by surprise, smoothed down her dress and continued to arrange his dinner on a tray.

“I'm neither, Rumpelstiltskin. I'm the girl who ruins-”

“Yes, very clever,” he cut in. “Just bring dinner up before it's cold.”

Dinner was still warm that night. But she dosed it with a few spoons of salt too many.

 

 

Within a week, Rumpelstiltskin decided to swallow his pride and ask Belle if she'd made any progress looking for a solution to their problem. She'd be insufferable about it, but so be it. If he had to spend another day listening to that string quartet, he might set the entire castle on fire and hope it would burn down with the building.

But that evening, as he followed the sound to the ballroom, the music had quieted down to what seemed to be a lullaby. At least, so he thought. He didn't know a lot of lullabies. It was still not as unpleasant as most of the songs had been, which was a relief.

As he walked into the ballroom though, his eyes grew wide as he realized something unexpected.

“Did you _clean_ in here?” he asked.

Belle, who was currently sitting on the leather trunk, watching the string quartet as it played, looked at him. Then, she looked around at the floor that had been recently mopped, the piano that had been dusted, and the windows at the farthest end, a third of which had been cleaned so that they could see the sunset outside.

“I did,” she said, and Rumpelstiltskin didn't know if he should be glad she was finally doing what she was supposed to, or frustrated that she was _still_ not doing as she was asked. After all, he had no use for the ballroom whatsoever.

“I just felt this room needed a little love,” she told him, even though he hadn't asked yet.

“My study does too, dearie,” he said. “Is that on your list of chores?”

He waited for the comeback. She remained quiet. Thinking of it now, she did look a little demotivated, with her shoulders slumped and her chin resting on her right hand. When he first walked into the room, she seemed lost in thought. Overall, the image was one of defeat.

His voice was as far from confrontational as it could be when he asked, “Why do you look so melancholy?”

Belle took some time to smooth her dress to avoid the question. When she looked up, he thought he'd get his answer, but instead, she frowned and asked, “Why do you look so guilty?”

The question took him off guard. Guilty? He didn't look _guilty_. He had nothing to feel guilty about. He replied, “I believe I asked first.”

“Yes, you did,” she said, and went back to staring at the string quartet, completely ignoring him. Of course, why would she start doing what she was told now? This was probably some sort of punishment for the fight they'd had a week earlier, a cold shoulder for all the screaming.

However, when Rumpelstiltskin sat on the trunk as well, she didn't recoil or walk away. He left as much distance as he could between them, but Belle didn't seem to care for how proper he was being. She was too enthralled by the music.

When a somber note echoed within the ballroom, he said, “That trunk was a bad deal.”

Belle looked at him. When he didn't add anything else, she sighed, “I just realized I will never dance again.”

“Don't tell them that. They might play louder.”

Despite the situation, she gave him the tiniest smile. She was probably the only person in all the realms who thought he was funny.

“You know,” she continued, “the last ball I attended was my own engagement party. I thought it was not proper, because of the war, but Gaston insisted. That was the last time I ever danced, and I didn't even enjoy it as much as I should have.”

“Better fighter than dancer, was he?” Rumpelstiltskin said, his voice a little more teasing than he planned.

Belle didn't laugh. “No. It was not that,” she said, but didn't explain.

After a moment, she said, “I'm sorry I opened the trunk.”

“You should be sorry.”

She raised an eyebrow at him. Never had something so simple looked so demanding before.

“I suppose,” he admitted, begrudgingly, “that I could have been clearer about the contents of the trunk.”

“And not teased me so much about it.”

“Yes.”

“And said you were sorry that-”

“Don't push it.”

Belle nodded. “Fair enough.” She straightened her back. “I've been researching them.”

“Did you find anything about how to destroy them?”

“Destroy them?” she repeated, appalled by the idea. “I thought that maybe we could put them back in the trunk. It'd be a pity to lose them. It's quite soothing when you're cleaning.”

“You clean?”

She smirked at him. “Occasionally.”

“I'm starting to think that trunk was not the worst deal I've ever made.”

“How so?”

“I was promised a maid. That was a bad deal.”

“Funny,” she said, nudging closer. “But I don't think you regret it.”

“Is that so?”

She gave him such a conceited look that he had to fight the corners of his mouth to keep himself from smiling.

“I'm returning your ballroom to its former glory. That is worth something.” She looked around. “The most beautiful ballroom I've ever seen, and I'll never attend another ball again.”

“If you want to dance, I won't look.”

“It's not you looking that is holding me back.”

“What is it then?”

“It's just too sad to dance by yourself. Oh!”

Belle shot to her feet as another song started, taking over the lullaby.

“I love this song,” she said, mournful, as if that was the last time she'd ever hear something so beautiful.

“I remember this song,” he said, reaching out to a distant memory of people dancing around a bonfire, celebrating something he didn't quite remember.

 _Papa, can we dance too?_ , Baelfire asked, and he didn't know how to explain that cowards were not allowed into festivities.

“You do?” Belle asked, curious.

“ _Touch the Sky_ ,” he said, at the same time she beamed, “ _Touch the Sky_ , yes. How do you know it?”

Rumpelstiltskin shrugged.

“It's one of my favorites,” Belle told him, leaning closer to the instruments and swaying softly. She seemed so eager...

“There is... one thing we could try.”

“Hm?” Belle asked. “What do you mean?”

“To get them back in the trunk.”

“And they wouldn't have to be destroyed?”

“No.”

“What is it?”

Rumpelstiltskin got up from the trunk and offered her his hand.

“What is this?”

He didn't reply. He could feel the sudden heat crawling up his collar, but could only hope it wouldn't show on his face.

“Are you asking me to dance?” she asked, surprised, but not repulsed.

“It is possible,” he quickly explained, before she got any ideas, “that these instruments were enchanted so they would play without pause until they,” he cleared his throat, “they fulfilled their purpose.”

“Which is?”

“A dance.”

She thought of his words. “That's it? A dance?”

He shrugged. “Well, the owner should be involved, I believe.”

Belle looked at him with suspicion. She said, “We could have tried that before. I wouldn't have minded.”

“We can try it now. And besides,” he said, before she could ask another question, “it isn't fair that your last dance be with a man who couldn't dance.”

Belle seemed to think about it. Rumpelstiltskin fidgeted with the fingers on his outstretched hand. It was painful to wait for her touch.

Finally, Belle held on to his hand, saying, “It'd be a pity if the ballroom went to waste.

 

 

Behind her, the instruments lost track of what they were playing the moment Belle held his hand, as if they'd caught them off guard. She wondered if that had been enough to break the spell. But then he said, “Would you like to choose?”

Belle looked over her shoulder. The violins held their bows up, eager to start playing, the viola was swaying in the air, agitated, and the cello was already playing a low note. She told them the name of her favorite song to dance to, which was a little too complicated and perhaps he wouldn't know the steps, but if this had to be her last dance, then let it be to the best of songs.

Holding on to her hand, Rumpelstiltskin made a curtsy on the floor, bowing his head. Belle did the same, holding on to her simple dress that in nothing resembled the beautiful ball gowns she was used to, but right now it didn't matter. In a ballroom like this, she still felt like a queen.

As it turned out, the Dark One _could_ dance. More than anything, that simple fact surprised her. Not only that, but he danced very well, even if his movements were a little hesitant. He even knew the steps to that song by heart.

“Where did you learn to dance?” she asked, when he stepped close enough to hear.

“You'd be surprised at how many deals can be closed on a dance floor,” he said, looking away, even though she had her eyes on him.

Belle executed a perfect pirouette. She'd been practicing all week, pretending it would someday be useful again. At least today, it was.

“That's not an answer to my question,” she shot back.

“I suppose it's not,” he replied, taking her hand again and passing an arm around her waist. He kept such a distance between them, though. Gaston did the same, claiming it wasn't proper to behave anyway else. But she suspected this had nothing to do with being proper.

“Where did _you_ learn to dance?” he asked.

“With my mother. She loved the ballet just as much as she loved books. She always said a lady should be as educated as she should be graceful. Though next to her, I always felt clumsy.”

“You don't look clumsy to me.”

She smiled at him. “Wait until I step on your feet.”

“Did you step on your betrothed's feet?”

“I... might have done that on purpose.”

Rumpelstiltskin looked at the floor for a moment, but Belle could see the smile he was trying to hide.

“Did your mother teach you to dance?” Belle insisted.

“Haven't you learned your lesson about curiosity?”

“I could ask you the same about keeping secrets.”

He rolled his eyes at her, but seemed amused by her cheekiness.

“You are impossible,” he said. Belle took that as a compliment.

After twirling her around again, he said, “I learned it from two spinsters who were willing to teach me.”

“When was that?”

“A long time ago.”

“Were they your friends?”

“I don't know who ever said you were clumsy,” he said, ignoring her question. “But they were lying.”

“Are you trying to distract me with flattery, Rumpelstiltskin?”

“An honest compliment.”

“Then allow me to say that the spinsters would be proud. You are an excellent dancer.”

“What, compared to the ogre you were marrying?”

Belle threw her head back and laughed. As it died in her throat, the music quieted down and stopped completely, leaving her in his arms with a big grin on her face. She didn't even hear it when silence came.

“Well, dearie, look at that,” he said, looking beyond her, but not yet letting her go.

Belle looked around just in time to see the tip of the cello disappear inside the trunk and the lid close behind it.

“It worked,” she said.

Before she could even look at him again, Rumpelstiltskin had taken a step back and let go of her hand and waist.

“We should have done this sooner,” he said, dismissive, putting the padlock back in place with the wave of a hand. He walked away from her, to check if the lid was well shut.

“What will you do with them?” Belle asked, growing worried again. It wouldn't suprise her if he just threw them out of the window.

“I'm sure there's someone out there who might put them to good use. A monarch, probably, the kind that throws a lot of parties. You know the kind.”

“Rumpelstiltskin,” Belle said, cautious, “these instruments...”

“Yes?”

“They were not just waiting for a dance, I mean, _any_ dance.”

“Weren't they?” he replied. “It seems that it worked.”

“What I meant is-”

“You're free to finish cleaning this room, if it pleases you. But I think your time would be better suited elsewhere.”

Without another word, he walked away from her, as if they hadn't just danced together, and shared secrets, and shared a laugh.

Belle looked after him, puzzled. That wasn't just any dance. It felt special to her, though she couldn't quite put her finger on it. It just... felt that way. Maybe that was what the spell required, a special dance.

Why was it special though? What made that different? Belle had no idea.

Perhaps some day she would figure it out.

 

 


End file.
